


Stopgap

by Steadfxst



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Miscarriage, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 19:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18169034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steadfxst/pseuds/Steadfxst
Summary: Jim and his boyfriend, Evander, think they're ready to settle down and start a family. The universe has other plans.Set sometime after Jim joins the Academy but before he is made captain.





	Stopgap

_“Are you sure this will work?” Kirk asks._

_“Yes,” Evander answers with more confidence than he feels. “I’m sure.”_

_Kirk leans down to kiss him, and Evander wraps his arms around him, pulling him closer. He can tell that Kirk is close and that he’s holding himself back, waiting for Evander to come first._

_“It’s okay,” Evander insists. “Please. I want you to.”_

_“It’s—it’s not right.”_

_“Please, Kirk. I’m ready.”_

_Evander squeezes around him, cradling Kirk between his thighs. He hears his cunt squelch lewdly as Kirk moves within him, and he feels a familiar warmth build up inside him._

_“Ah—” Kirk gasps._

_Evander lets out a sigh of contentment as Kirk fills him up, hips thrusting more erratically before, his finesse gone. Evander closes his eyes and smiles, relieved that finally, finally they were going to have a baby that was just theirs. Tears leak out of the corner of Evander’s eyes._

_“Are you okay?” Kirk asks._

_He feels Kirk’ hands cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing the tears away. He opens his eyes._

_“Yes,” Evander says, voice gone raspy with emotion. “I’m more than okay. Thank you.”_

_Kirk smiles, pleased that Evander was pleased. He kisses him again, softer this time._

_“I’m so proud of you,” Kirk says._

_“I haven’t done anything yet.”_

_Kirk laughs tenderly._

_“Still. You’re amazing, and I love you.”_

_“I love you, too,” Evander says._

Evander sits in the bath. The water from the shower is hot—too hot—as it pours over him. He can’t help but think about the night he and Kirk decided they were ready to have one of their own. He places his hand over his abdomen and tears well up. The tears aren’t so happy this time. He wonders how he’s going to tell Kirk that he lost their baby.

He’s not sure he’ll be able to handle the look of pain that will cross Kirk’ face. He wonders what Kirk will say. Surely he won’t be angry. He’ll probably say something kind, and he’ll try to be understanding. Evander imagines Kirk’s voice in his head:

“We can try again. There’s no rush. These things happen. We’ll get through this. I love you.”

On and on in that vein, equal parts encouraging, supportive, and loving. Though well-intended, the words sound…inadequate. Words aren’t enough to encompass the loss and grief Evander feels right now, sitting in the shower, alone, waiting for his human boyfriend to return and find him here.

In the meantime, Evander knows he should send for a doctor to help him with the persistent cramps, but he doesn’t. Mostly because he feels selfish for wanting the pain to stop. He could not make a safe home for his fetus, and so it only seemed fair that he allow whatever suffering his body has in store for him to take its natural course. The ache was the only remaining thing that even indicated he had been with child, for however short a time that was.

Eventually, the shower turns cold, and Evander stands on shaky legs. He wraps himself in Kirk’s robe and wanders to their bedroom. He tries not to look at the blood-stained clothes he’d left by the en suite door, but he can’t help himself, and fresh tears soon soak his face.

He carefully lowers himself onto the mattress and curls himself into a ball around Kirk’s pillow. The familiar smell is a welcome comfort. Evander sniffs. His throat hurts from wailing and the salt on his cheeks is abrasive on his cheek. He should call Kirk. He should tell him to come home. He doesn’t have the energy to get up and grab his communicator from wherever he’d left it when he’d rushed home in the middle of work. He had known that something was wrong as soon as the first twinge in his lower back started. By the time he reached his apartment, it was obvious what was happening…and too late to do anything about it. He feels foolish for thinking their species would be compatible.

Evander lets out a long, stuttering sigh. He allows himself to think about his home planet—it had been a while since he left home to work for the Federation—for the first time in a long time. He thinks about the wide open spaces on his family’s property, a perk of being a professional carrier—the closest thing humans here on earth had to his old job was a “surrogate”—for the government. He thinks of the clinic that employed him, and the clients who came to him, desperate to have a child. He remembers being filled up many, many times, of getting round and producing healthy young for most of his adult life. He proudly bore children he would never get to know for people he would never see again. 

Evander remembers the precious few moments he would get to share with a newborn that was (biologically) half his. The midwife would help extract the child from his womb as he pushed hard. Then there would be a moment of silence before soft cries would fill the air. The midwife would quickly clean the baby off before placing them on Evander’s chest. He would breathe in their scent and gently stroke their tiny body. He would give them a name, one he whispered into the child’s ear, a secret they would share long after they went to live with the couple who had requested his services.

The nurse would then take the child to his new parents, and Evander’s soul would ache for a while, but he would be content with the knowledge that his little one was in a safe and loving home with parents who wanted and loved children. He would note the details of the birth in his calendar and perhaps say a blessing over and over until he felt satisfied, comforted himself enough to be able to go about the routine of waiting for the next time he would be fertile again, ready to bear another child.

This time was supposed to be different. It was supposed to be the first time there would be no secret name. No pitiful diary entry. No quiet blessings prayed. It was supposed to have been a little one just for him, for him and Kirk to love and raise.

And now, it was not meant to be. Now, he was alone.

Evander wonders how long he’s been lying there when he hears a sound at the apartment door. Kirk is home.

“Evander? I’m home!”

He hears Kirk kick off his shoes and place them on the shoe rack. He can’t hear it, but he can easily picture him hanging up his jacket, too.

“Evander?”

Evander doesn’t have the strength to answer. He feels a mixture of numbness and grief that he can’t remember ever feeling before. He hears Kirk’ feet approach.

“Evander? Why are the lights off? Are you okay?”

Kirk turns the light on, and Evander hears the soft gasp. He must’ve seen the bloodstained clothes by the bathroom door.

“What—what happened? I—”

Evander opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a weak, “Kirk…”

He watches Kirk’ face fall in what feels like slow motion as the realization dawns on him. It’s not difficult to put two and two together.

“Oh, Evander…”

“I—”

Evander swallows hard over a lump in his throat. There’s nothing to say. Not really. There will be plenty of time for words, and probably long, painful conversations, later. He waits for Kirk to fill the silence with his well-meaning phrases, but Kirk doesn’t say anything. 

Instead, Kirk quickly discards his Academy clothes and climbs into bed behind Evander in his boxers and undershirt. He wraps his strong, warm arms around Evander and holds him close.

“Whatever you need,” Kirk finally says. “I am here, okay? Anything. You just name it. I love you so much. Do you know that?”

Evander nods.

Yes, he knew that. He was very sure.

Evander was wrong. He wasn’t alone.

“I love you too,” he whispers.

Kirk holds him tight.


End file.
